


fell for you (hard)

by extremegraphicviolins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bi Disaster Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, and i think that's beautiful, everyone's a disaster, they're both disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-20 18:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremegraphicviolins/pseuds/extremegraphicviolins
Summary: Lance falls - literally and metaphorically. Both times, a hot hockey player is to blame.





	fell for you (hard)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for almost a year, and I decided to revisit it bc I wanted something happy and cute. Hope you enjoy :3
> 
>   ~~Also I know next to nothing about ice skating please be gentle with me~~

Lance held his final pose for a few seconds after the music ended, just like always.

“Okay!” Allura called from the side. Lance let his arms drop and skated over to her. There was a group of hockey players gathered by the entrance of the arena, and Lance could barely hear Allura over the noise they were making.

“That was better,” Allura said, after shooting one last look in the hockey team’s direction. “You’ve almost got that triple Lutz down. I think once you get the hang of that, the rest of the routine will come together.” She glanced at her watch. “We can work on it some more tomorrow.”

Lance resisted the urge to groan. For months, the triple Lutz had been the bane of his existence. But Allura wouldn’t let him rest until he could execute it perfectly, and he was grateful — even for the aches in his thighs.

“So why don’t you cool down for a few minutes,” Allura said, “and then we should clear off the ice. The hockey team has it booked for eleven.”

“Roger that,” Lance said with a salute. He skated away to do a few last laps.

The ice was empty and peaceful. He skated at an easy pace, moving with smooth strides and stretching his arms behind his back.

He did a spiral, gliding along on one foot, before launching into a single toe loop. It was maybe a little showier than necessary for a cool-down, but the ice was empty, and—

“No!”

Lance looked over to the sidelines where the shout came from.

“Chad, you dumbass, what the hell—”

The hockey players were crowded around the glass separating the seats from the ice, all looking suspiciously like kids who had put a baseball through an old lady’s living room window. One of them was pointing at something.

Lance looked at the player quizzically. “What—”

And that was when he noticed the beanie on the ice right in front of him.

“Fucking— _ow!_ ”

He barely had enough time to swerve and miss the hat so it didn’t get caught on his blades, but that meant taking a sharp, unbalanced turn — knocking his knee on the ice. Hard.

Lance hissed as he fell and slid across the ice, swearing like a sailor the whole way. When he finally came to a stop, his pants were cold and wet and covered in snow. He grabbed at his knee and exhaled. Nothing was broken, but there was definitely gonna be a bruise there later.

“Son of a motherfucking—”

“Are you all right?”

Lance looked up. “—fuck,” he finished weakly.

Standing above him was a super buff — and apparently super concerned — guy from the hockey team.

Huh.

“I am so, so sorry,” the guy said, kneeling next to Lance, getting snow all over his jeans. “One of my teammates thought it would be funny to throw my hat onto the ice, and — Shit.” The guy looked at Lance. “Can you walk?”

“I… think so?”

“Let me give you a hand.” The guy stood, picking up the treacherous hat and holding out a hand. “I’m Shiro, by the way,” he added as Lance hauled himself up. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“It’s fine,” Lance said. “Really.” And it was. The smarting in his knee was starting to fade.

“Are you sure?”

“You bet,” Lance said. He was wobbly and sore, but found that he could still skate, no problem.

Then he remembered that there was practice the next day. And that Allura was expecting him to give the triple Lutz a hundred and ten percent. Okay, so it might be a _bit_ of a problem.

“Thanks for walking with me,” Lance said once they reached the sideboards. Shiro had gone onto the ice in his sneakers, Lance realized.

“It’s the least I could do,” Shiro said, opening the gate and letting Lance use his hand to balance as he stepped off the ice. “Since I’m kind of the reason you fell in the first place.”

Lance sat down and started unlacing his skates. “It’s not a big deal. And were you the one that threw the hat?”

“‘Course not.”

“Then it’s not your fault.” Lance pulled off his skates. Shiro still looked guilty. “Seriously. I’ll just ice it tonight and it’ll be good as new.”

Finally, Shiro seemed to relax. “All right. Well. I mean, you kind of already iced it—”

Lance paused midway through wiping off his blades, and stared at Shiro. _Was that a fucking pun?_

“—but, uh. Yeah.” Shiro seemed to realize what he’d just said, too, and his cheeks turned pink. “Y’know what, I think practice is starting soon. I— I should go. I’m really, really sorry about all of this.”

Lance had never seen six feet two inches of muscle move so quickly. Shiro was outta there and into the change room so fast that Lance would’ve missed him if he’d blinked.

So Lance finished wiping the snow off his skates, stowed them in his bag, and put on his running shoes. He was just about to start stretching when the change room door flew open and the hockey team filtered out onto the ice. His eyes fell on a jersey that read SHIROGANE on the back in block letters.

Lance never thought of hockey uniforms as particularly attractive, but today was proving to be very educational. Because the weird shoulder pad thingies only made Shiro’s shoulders look broader. The knee-socks-and-shorts thing would have been ugly on anyone else, but _damn_ if they weren’t doing wonders for Shiro’s legs. Lance watched as Shiro skated past, and he caught sight of the capital 'C' on Shiro’s sleeve.

So apparently the super hot and nice hockey player was also the team captain. No big deal. In fact, it was the complete opposite of a big deal.

Lance caught snippets of conversation coming from the nearly-indistinguishable mob of jerseys.

“...still can’t believe you did that…”

“Yeah, Chad, you could’ve killed the guy.”

“Shut up, asshat.”

And then.

“Hey, I don’t even think Shiro knows the guy’s name!”

This, of course, was followed by a chorus of _ohhh_ s that reverberated through the arena like a choir of sweaty jocks.

“Shiro, man!” one of them blurted. “You should get his number!”

Wait.

Another chorus of loud and unharmonized _ohhh_ s rang out.

Hottie McHotterson Shiro liked guys?

Shiro just shook his head. “Enough, guys. Coach is running late, so let’s run some drills in the meantime.” With minimal grumbling, the team dispersed onto the ice.

Lance went back to stretching his hamstrings, face as pink as Shiro’s had been after he made that god-awful pun. _Why did all the hot ones have to make puns?_ Still, Shiro was cute and seemed really nice, even if almost getting killed by his hat was the furthest possible thing from a meet-cute.

Allura had taught him to always stretch for longer than he thought he needed to, so Lance stayed on the bench for another ten minutes, ignoring the ache in his knee as he unwound from the tough practice. It wasn’t like he was watching the hot hockey guys practice, or anything.

Just as Lance was about to leave, though, Shiro skated by, grabbing his water bottle off the sideboard.

“Wait!” Lance called.

Shiro turned and looked at him, surprised.

The rest of the team turned and looked at him, too, expectant and a little annoyed.

Fuck.

“I, uh,” Lance said eloquently. “I have something for you?”

Shiro gave him a questioning look.

Double fuck.

Lance dashed over to the table by the door that held sign-up sheets and brochures, and scribbled his name and phone number on the first piece of paper he saw.

“Here,” Lance said breathlessly, holding the slightly-crumpled curling club brochure out to Shiro. “In case you wanted to get coffee sometime?”

Shiro took the brochure, reading what Lance had scrawled on in with a painfully neutral expression.

_Triple_ fuck.

“No worries if you don’t want to, though; I—”

“Lance.”

Lance looked up.

And Shiro… Shiro was _smiling._ It put the goddamn sun to shame.

“Nice name.”

“Thanks,” Lance said, and before he could stop himself, “it was a birthday present.”

Shiro honest-to-god snort-laughed. “Well played.”

Lance shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “It wouldn’t be fair if you got to tell all the bad jokes.”

“True,” Shiro said with a wry smile. He glanced over his shoulder at where the rest of the team waited on the ice. “I have to get back to practice,” he said, and for a split second, Lance’s heart fell. “But… are you free on Thursday afternoon?”

Lance was.

 

* * *

 

If smashing his knee on the ice was the price Lance had to pay to go on a date with Shiro… well, it didn’t _entirely_ make up for it, because his knee still hurt like hell when Thursday rolled around. But, Lance thought, it was a pretty good place to start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought of this fic, so feel free to leave a comment or come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.extremegraphicviolins.tumblr.com)!


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